


Rose Nocturnal

by GeneralLoki



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: AU, Fluri, Gothic Romance, M/M, Monsters, Supernatural - Freeform, gothic horror, something along those lines at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralLoki/pseuds/GeneralLoki
Summary: Rumors swirl around the city of Heliord--a strange murder staining the name of its highest noble and terrifying people all the way back to the capital. Rising, but struggling knight Flynn Scifo is sent out to investigate, but a terrible storm traps him and his brigade just a town away. The turn in the weather strands them no where else but the very town he'd been raised in. While unintentional, Flynn uses the opportunity to try and see his dearest friend Yuri after a separation of seven years before the storm or worse drives them apart once more.





	

Estranged shadows coursed over the lengthy hallway to the study. Daylight had dimmed under a deep gray overcast—velvety thick clouds hanging over the sky resolutely—seeming unmoving as it rained for the third day straight. The patter of droplets spattered over the ornate roofing in disrepair—the coarser pellets dislodging an unlucky shingle with some help from the battering wind. 

Time and terrible misfortune separated Flynn from his dear childhood friend for some years now, but new trouble trapped him in this friend's inherited manor. In the heavy rain, mudslides and floods blocked he and the handful of knights in service of the crown that had come through the area. In a way he anticipated it. This place was home—albeit a home he'd had to leave a very long time ago to join his remaining family in the capital. But the roads were still the same and the weather still awful at this time year. 

He felt constrained in noble's clothing—a style of dress he'd not been afforded since his youth.

The collar felt tight around his neck.

Anxiety and hesitation long strides short of the threshold he would have to cross seized his movements and froze Flynn there in the near icy hall—his shadow joining those dancing in dim firelight. His thoughts drew him back both years and only hours behind himself. 

 

* * *

 

His orders called on him specifically to a town just past Caer Bocram—Heliord, a touch bigger, home to a richer more storied group of royal family relatives far more revered and respected than the Lowells. This path through Caer Bocram was generally the fastest way there, but any native would have turned down traveling in this part of the season—Flynn knew he might should have. And yet, almost if he'd subconsciously banked on this happening—he accepted. He'd not been back to this place in nearly seven years. He hadn't seen these rains or floods. He hadn't seen Yuri.

Hesitation grasped tightly at his heart when he considered meeting with him. 

The path up to the manor had been clear and deemed safe enough, but the small group of knights remained mostly confined to the inn in the lower part of town. Flynn had found himself watching through the windows for the first day the crew was stuck in town—knowing skyline well and the way the spire of the manor twisted up into the familiarly gray horizon. The desire to trek up the old path struck him deeply and yet still pushed him away. 

Ugly rumors about what remained of the Lowell family floated around the capital palace and parties Flynn often provided guard or company for. He'd become something of a respectable knight, but only barely. The death and disgrace of his father put him in the hands of distant relatives in the capital—ones that would have pushed him into the knighthood had he not chosen it himself. There were few outlets for a disgraced noble—even one so young. Flynn carried the scar of his name—one that faded in the people's memory over time, but still restricted upward momentum. 

He worried what Yuri would say. They had been split apart so suddenly, almost violently seven years ago. There were few days he did not think of his dear friend—one he'd adventured and fought with together. Could he be blamed for dreading contact? He didn't need to bring further shame Yuri's way. Or at least, he'd understood it as such.

And even with his better manners demanding he avoid it, his heart took him on the third evening to the manor on the hill, edged at a cliff overlooking a murky pattern of steep drops and thick forest. Even in the dry season, a slip off the side meant death. The path avoided that portion of the surroundings, but the idea seized Flynn's thoughts. He and Yuri had so many close calls near that death pit—like ordinary foolish children they'd played near there and tempted fate. How they survived it, he didn't know. 

Once Flynn reached the Lowell Manor door—ancient and heavy wood—he knocked hard. His knight's uniform had been soaked through in the rain despite wearing a cloak and hood to try and stave it off. His comrades probably thought he was a fool to go out in such weather, but they hadn't stopped him either. He was a captain—making contact with the nobles perhaps seemed normal enough. A dirty job for their leader, surely. 

There Flynn stood at the door, shivering, one hand clenched at the sheath of his blade, quivering. He told himself it was the cold and not anticipation. He remembered this door and standing here with his mother, gently stepping out of a carriage or off horseback with her, excitedly running in once he was granted permission to visit with Yuri. Their old manor hadn't been too far away—enough they could see each other often. 

Anxiety rang through his body, his chest tight as no one answered right away. He'd seen smoke rising from a chimney, surely someone was home.

His wait paid off as someone finally opened the door. It was a somewhat older man—probably around twice Flynn's age, but it was hard to say for sure. What he did know was this was a face he didn't recognize from the old staff. He'd heard they'd all been dismissed at some point—more of the strangeness around the Lowell name that flittered around parties carelessly. This man, dressed formally for a butler position, pulled the door open a bit wider upon seeing Flynn's form at the door. The tired look in his eyes turned wide awake—the crisp blue color of them sharpening. Flynn lowered his hood, remembering it might do him well to show his face. 

“Pardon me...I'm sure this is unusual, but I'm a knight captain from the capital. I ...wished to speak with the head of the household,” Flynn began formally. 

The older man at the door leaned back, disbelief in his eyes. “Yeah? Well isn't that somethin',” he said in a tone and casual language unexpected of a butler or otherwise. Looking at him again, there was something off about him. His posture was terrible and his hair was a fluffy mess tied back behind his head. He didn't have the poise and grace expected of one in service to a noble. Perhaps there had been no other help available or left. Flynn worried the rumors were true. 

“I realize I'm unannounced, but I'm the captain of the Flynn Brigade, Flynn Scifo. My knights and I are trapped here in town due to a landslide over the road and the weather as it is. I hoped to take a moment to connect with the baron here,” Flynn continued after a second of hesitation.

The butler sized him up for a moment, his eyes darted down and back up Flynn's figure. He didn't really hurry to say anything in reply.

Flynn steadied himself in the cold. “If you'll tell the lord of the house my name...I believe he will recognize it.” 

This time the man at the door raised an eyebrow. “New brigade, huh?” the butler replied finally. 

“Yes, I was promoted not very long ago...”

“So you get the crap jobs out in the boonies, dontcha?” 

Flynn gave him a wry smile. “Our work is in Heliord. If that helps your assessment.” 

“Ah, the Cumore murder then,” the butler worked out, leaning back and resting one hand on his chin. “Nasty rumors about that place floating around. It's got everybody in town scared as hell. That'll be an interestin' story, won't it?” 

“Perhaps on our return I can let you know personally, Mister...?” 

“Raven. Just Raven's good. Let's get your soaked tail inside. We'll talk about seeing the young master in a minute,” the butler said with some sense of humor in his tone. 

Flynn wasn't sure what to make of Raven just yet. But he did step back and gesture for Flynn to step inside. Once within, Raven closed the door behind them, the warmth of the home flooding over Flynn's wet skin and clothes. Years of outdoor watches had made Flynn fairly immune to the worst of the weather, but the first steps back into civilization after getting soaked never stopped being deeply unpleasant. 

Raven stepped around Flynn's side and took a look at him in the better light of the entryway. “You're not really in good shape to see the young man like this...Look. I'm gonna do you a huge favor and get you somethin' dry to change into, alright? Just do us a favor and don't piss off the royal pain so much he kicks you out,” he said, giving Flynn an odd grin. 

Flynn couldn't place his finger on why the look seemed strange. He briefly worried about Yuri throwing him out, but seeing him like this was really no better. “If you would do that for me I would be grateful, but if there's a risk for you, I won't put you to it.” 

Raven clutched at his chest like he were struck with pain. “Oh jeez, there it is. That gross kinda politeness. The heck am I gonna do with that? I can't not take care of ya' now,” he rambled a little, over-dramatizing every gesture. The old man spun around on his heels and started right off. “Alright, come on Mr.Knight. Before I change my mind.” 

The odd behavior puzzled Flynn briefly before he hurried after the butler, trying not to think too hard on it. He'd not quite met a lord's help that was this sort of casual. He hardly warranted any special treatment in his position, but he had to wonder if this man weren't like this with everyone. This question likely wouldn't be answered soon. The large manor was largely silent beyond their twin footsteps down loosely lit corridors. 

Raven led the way deeper into the manor—an area Flynn remembered well as being reserved for guests. There Raven pried open a door, a little bit of dust picking up with the motion. He coughed and swatted the air fruitlessly for a second before gesturing lazily for Flynn to enter. “I'll have somethin' for you to change into in a second. Just you know. There's some privacy.” 

Flynn didn't dare turn his nose at any kind of hospitality. Even if it were very, very strange. He nodded his head and stepped into the guest room without any fuss. “I'll wait here then...Thank you, sir.” 

“It's nothin'. Just give me a little bit. It's kind of a walk.” 

“I understand,” Flynn offered in reply along with a polite smile. Raven took the gesture well enough from his grin back and taking off. He at least shut the door behind himself. 

This left Flynn alone in the dusty room—the bed made and everything neat, but clearly untouched in a very long time. He doubted much of anyone would come up to visit considering the things other nobles said. Even still, rooms like this were usually kept in fair order while they were young. 

Memories flooded in from the back of his mind—of hands pressed to the tall glass windows, the pair watching the view from the rear of the manor as the countryside filled with unfiltered sunlight and strained their eyes for the first time in a few days. Only then could they see the fuller scope of fallen trees and damaged pathways heading out to Heliord. It couldn't have been too long after this time of year when the worst of the rains would have passed. Flynn recalled the way he and Yuri's breath clung to the glass of the window—the sun only just beginning to warm everything it graced. Some foolish part of them thought things would warm soon and together they threw the windows open only to be met with a gust of cold window—either retreating to the sides of the devilish blast. He could still remember the way Yuri yelped and the way his shoulders tensed nearly up to the longer dark hair recently clipped a bit shorter. 

Thoughts of his body in the moment tore Flynn out of his memories. His boots carried him to the window—now not as tall as he remembered it. His hands fixed onto either side of the curtains, pulling the heavy fabric apart to look at the whole picture. For some reason he pictured their breaths still fogging the glass at their eye-level. Instead he was greeted with the reality—an old glass window, the sill thick with dust and the surface clean enough, but certainly not fogged. He closed the curtains again hastily. 

The rain still continued outside anyway. 

Flynn reached as far as removing his cloak and cape before Raven knocked and peeked within without receiving an answer. “It's kinda hard to tell with you in all those layers, but I figure you're close enough to the kid's size. His stuff it's gonna have to be. It's that or clothes from the deceased. I figured that's kinda creepy so I cut you a break,” Raven explained as he let himself in and patted the bed free of dust with one arm, the other fixed with an outfit held at the crook of his elbow. Flynn stood back and covered his nose to avoid the worst of the now airborne dust.

“It's...appreciated...” 

Flynn hadn't missed the news. While he was still in training as a knight and only a couple years after he'd been sent away from Caer Bocram he'd heard Yuri's parents had both passed in some kind of incident. The details of which never came to light—he only understood that Yuri was the last of the Lowells alive and none of his far more distant relatives wanted anything to do the estate in this backwater town. It was only a matter of time before the emperor turned control of roads and timber to the lord in Heliord. 

He'd ached to go and see Yuri at that time—maybe the worst, but training kept him strapped to the capital or wherever else the crown needed young knights thrown. Ditching training meant probable exile and afforded him no chance to work his way back up to anything resembling acceptable. That Yuri was surviving and leaning on those in his staff to run the estate was the most he heard about his friend for some time. That served to reassure him more than the more worrying rumors he would hear after the time divide grew deeper. 

Flynn snapped out of his thoughts when Raven cleared his throat. “When you're all fixed up, the young master's at the end of this hall, up two floors, in the study. He'll probably be there most of the night so...go at your pace, I guess.” 

“My apologies...Thank you for the help. If I should need to ask you a question...?” Flynn began but didn't finish.

Raven laid a proper suit on the bed—a silvery gray set with proper tails and cuffs, a ribbon for the collar—and then glanced Flynn's way. “Good luck. You're better off asking asking someone else.” 

“Where would I find someone else then?” 

Raven cracked into a chuckle, looking amused with the question—like it were some kind of joke. “It's just me and the kid. You're not gonna find anyone else.” 

“You're the only one running this estate right now? How...?” Flynn blurted, unable to help himself. 

“Even I don't know. It's gonna go to hell any day now. I just plan to get out before it collapses.” 

Flynn winced. It would come to that in the end. With the ground unstable as it was in this part of town, there was hardly any other conclusion to be drawn. 

Raven shrugged off the look and started for the door. “Good luck. You can show yourself out or whatever. I'm sure a good knight like yourself can manage that much without causing trouble.” 

The knight braced himself again the almost backhanded comment. He squared his shoulders and let it go until Raven took one step out of the door. 

“Of course. But before you go, would you be willing to tell me which brigade you were in before you left the knights?” 

Raven tensed visibly, only glancing over his shoulder to give Flynn a look. “I got know idea what you're talking about.” 

“Your knife, inside your jacket. I recognize it as an older issue. The Commandant has a similar one.” 

Raven turned back away from him, his terrible posture correcting for a moment. “You don't want to dig into that one.” 

“If you're a deserter looking to take what's left of the lord's...” 

The threat was implied enough for Raven to shift, resting his back against the doorway. “I've been here for a couple years. I would've grabbed everything and split by now if that was the plan. Accuse me to the young man's face and see what he says. I got nothin' to hide.” 

Flynn didn't believe that for a second, but he shook his head. “Of course. I'll trust the lord's judgement. My apologies for jumping to conclusions.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna leave you to your business.” 

“Thank you.” 

With that the butler shut the door and his footfalls could be heard against the stone floors until they were out of earshot. Only then did Flynn look to the clothing he'd been brought. If these were Yuri's and they fit him maybe he'd not gotten too much taller than him in the end. Flynn shook the thought off and stripped down, hanging up his wet things. As he dressed he realized he had no plan beyond just getting here. What was he supposed to say to Yuri when he saw him? 

Reflex brought apologies to the tip of his tongue at the thought, but that hardly seemed sufficient. He choked on the anxiety now clawing at his throat. It was too late to turn back now. 

Flynn dressed in the fine suit, finding it a bit tight here and there but mostly fitting. He'd not forgotten how to put himself together in finery even after seven years. He gave himself a looking over in the dusty mirror hanging near the old bed. Wet hair still hung a little in his face but after a few run-throughs with his fingers it seemed at least an acceptable margin better. 

Would Yuri even recognize him? Would he even recognize Yuri anymore? 

He tried to imagine the boy he knew seven years ago in a suit like this. He felt the collar clench around his throat. Yuri would have hated this. Did he mature so much in that time? 

His boots forced him out the door—the momentum the only thing propelling him up the stairs two flights toward his destination.

 

* * *

 

Flynn adjusted the ribbon at his neck, watching his shadow do the same. This hallway and a single door stood between him and making up for something that plagued his mind for years. Perhaps he could not repair this in a day, but he could try. The solitude of the narrow space dampened his hopes. This hall he knew so well from days with Yuri and his family—both of their families. 

An ache tore into his chest—one he didn't dare identify—not now and not for seven years. Here afforded him no work to bury himself into. There was no mission, no amount of paperwork he could do to escape it. Reality spread before him in a two yard hike to a door heavier than sin. 

One step forward.

One at a time.

Flynn pushed himself. Harder than he did in training, harder than he did staving attacks off those he could help. No amount of pushing himself could prepare him still. 

And yet he reached the door and gripped the handle cold against his palm. A chill ran up his arm, skin still almost numb from the cold, but sensitive enough to leave him in goosebumps. 

The whole act of reaching the door almost put him beyond himself. He let the doorknob go and with a summoning of courage, he knocked on the old wood surface. The noise bounced back down the hall beyond him and his shoulders tensed. 

A voice he didn't exactly recognize answered in a handful of seconds.

“Come in.” 

Flynn froze briefly before shoving all his anxiety back down his throat. He couldn't afford to choke anymore—not while this close. Resolutely, he grasped the handle and opened the door with purpose, stepping back as he pulled it toward himself. At his first step right on the line with the frame his eyes caught sight of a figure in an armchair just across from him. 

Nestled near the fireplace he could remember sharing books by was the armchair, now pulled closer than he recalled it being. But the rug was the same weave, albeit faded with time now. Books remained scattered, over-stuffing shelves lining the walls where the fire was not. Even in this low light he recognized they were dusty and neglected. 

That aching damned his tongue and left him trapped. 

The figure in the armchair shifted up slightly—they had been slumped over fairly deeply. If he were sleeping he didn't care signaling he had been. Long hair and the low light shadowed much of his person, but in firelight Flynn first clearly saw a noticeable collarbone framed by an open dress shirt, a few of the buttons left undone. When the figure turned further and rose from his chair, Flynn saw him in full—half of his figure lit in an orange glow. 

Tired eyes widened, still as dark and rich as Flynn remembered them. 

“Who...? Flynn...?” his dear friend asked, recognition starting to flood his features. It took only a second for the young lord to step once then twice closer to the door to better see Flynn. 

The freeze over the knight melted for the look over Yuri's face—something like relief. Something related to relief. Anything that wasn't disgust or disdain; he could accept that. Flynn endured a few paces to meet Yuri properly—face to face for the first time since fate deemed to tear them apart seven years prior. 

All decorum forgotten, Flynn's hands reached for one of Yuri's, holding him gently, affectionately like not a day had gone by. The touch was familiar and yet different. His hand felt terribly warm against his still chilly skin, calluses from hours of swordplay meeting similar marks against Yuri's skin. Flynn's mind ran quickly and yet his lips felt slow in keeping up.

“Yes...!” he got out after what felt like a lifetime of screaming the answer within his head. His eyes locked with Yuri's, the young lord's expression still deeply shocked. “It's me, Yuri...My apologies...my deepest apologies I've taken so long,” he spoke almost as if he were short of breath. Even still a determined looked settled into his eyes. He meant every word of his apology—surely Yuri would see that. 

Yuri's face shifted, the surprise turning to a touch of frustration clear in a more furrowed brow. “You didn't even say hello...Come on,” Yuri answered, his tone a little shaky, almost strange, but there was a hint of the playfulness Flynn remembered in him. 

Flynn tensed, nearly every inch of him. He shook his head and grasped Yuri's hand a little tighter. “Before anything else at all, I have to apologize...” 

“Well, you apologized. Don't give me that look anymore. You look like you're gonna get into the waterworks at any second,” Yuri said with a certain level of playing tougher that Flynn could recognize. 

Flynn straightened up and let his shoulders loosen as much as he could, his hold on Yuri's hand relaxing as well. A short breath put him back together. “I just didn't think this day would ever come. I hardly know what to say,” he replied, far more like his usual put-together self. 

Yuri looked a touch more at ease although something remained deeply worrying in his eyes. Flynn couldn't put his finger on anything in particular, but he seemed generally worn out, maybe a touch thin, darker circles under his eyes. His whole being seemed stretched thin—like he was reaching the end of what he could handle. The thought twisted in Flynn's chest. 

“I guess... I didn't either. But for some reason you're here...now...” 

Flynn realized himself and his station suddenly, painfully, and let Yuri's hand go. He took a few paces back and placed his fist to his chest and bowed his head. “I...am here as Captain Flynn Scifo of the Imperial Knights.” 

Yuri recoiled very slightly—the motion tiny, but Flynn didn't miss it. A piece of him understood it however. That he was allowed to remain in this place in its state was a mystery. That tinge of fear in his eyes tore Flynn apart. He straightened up and hurried to continue.

“I...and my knights were only passing through. We're supposed to be investigating the strange murder at the Cumore manor in Heliord. But the roads are all blocked so...it seems we'll be here for a little while until the rains clear and we can clean it up,” he explained, wishing to disperse that fear as soon as he could. 

Tension loosened and Yuri brushed aside some of his hair that had fallen in front of his face. His gaze turned back toward the wall near the fireplace. “It's that then...I didn't know you became a knight, but...that makes sense.” There was a short pause before he added, “Suits you.” 

Flynn stood back up straight and let his arms rest at his sides. “I am hardly much of a knight yet, but...my apologies for addressing you so informally without that considered.” 

An odd smirk spread over Yuri's lips and within a second he was chuckling. “You're serious? Yeah, you were always serious all the time, weren't you? Why am I even asking? It's fine, Flynn. I'd rather have you here as an old friend than as a knight of anything. I don't care if you're the Commandant even.” 

He still laughed just the way he remembered it too. Flynn's eyes lit up and he let himself smile—honestly smile for the first time in what felt like a century. He had a thousand polite smiles and looks—laughs because it was appropriate to do so, inviting smiles to welcome more knights and nobles, but he hadn't felt himself relax into this kind of smile. It warmed his heart and limbs back up to his cheeks from the cold. Something eased in the spring-loaded trap that was his mind. 

“I think you would care a little if I were the Commandant,” Flynn found himself saying before he really thought it through. 

Yuri cracked another laugh, one arm held over his midsection loosely. “I'd care, but not for the reasons you're thinking about. Come on, Flynn. Let's get you by the fire. You're stuck in town anyway. Might as well catch up,” he said with the kind of casual ease that used to piss Flynn off. Now he found a little reason to be jealous of it. At least this much about him never really changed. 

Yuri led the way and Flynn joined, the pair sitting together on the rug by the fire—the heat almost too much at first, but soon Flynn started to adjust. Something about this position with the two of them immediately brought back memories of other rainy nights they'd stayed together—sharing books and stories, dares and inevitable trouble for the maids. 

Now that they sat together in better light he could look over the face of the friend he'd not seen in so long. Time had been terribly kind to Yuri. If he didn't look so tired he would have been blessed with a flawless complexion and silky hair that hung over his shoulders, framed his face and left Flynn in awe. He'd been the same height it seemed, but a bit smaller than Flynn himself in terms of muscle. Now that he was closer he could see he was still lean, practiced too if the calluses told him anyway. He wondered if they might have time for sparring match—just to see how far they had come. It was so long ago they used to duel with wooden blades—always pushing one another to do better, to get stronger still. 

“You haven't changed a bit, have you?” Yuri half asked through a slight grin, but something about his tone was telling. It wasn't really a question.

Flynn struggled to deny it. “Not anymore than you have. But your hair's gotten so long...” 

“Yeah? I guess it has. It's too much trouble to hack it off.” 

“It suits you. It's fine,” Flynn said almost reassuringly. “But we should be catching each other up, shouldn't we? If it doesn't trouble you too much...” 

Yuri glanced aside toward the clock then the window. The rain fell heavily outside, growing darker still as a heavier storm moved in. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “Well, maybe this is a bad time. The weather's only getting worse.”

The comment struck Flynn oddly. “I can leave when you're done. I do patrols by night most of the time. I can find my way well enough,” he offered anyway. If he imposed anymore and caused some kind of distress for the young lord he wasn't sure he could deal with the thought.

“No, it's dangerous out there in the storm, just...” Yuri trailed off, his expression hard to read. “I guess it's not gonna clear up at this rate. Stay here for tonight. And tell me about you first. I've been wondering a long time and nothing exciting goes on here. You know that,” he continued, sounding more sure as he went. Something about it felt like a cover up but Flynn was willing to oblige. 

He settled more comfortably across from Yuri but close on the rug, gesturing with one hand as he began a tale that stretched back seven years from his short stretch with his distant family before he could escape the to the knighthood. Yuri listened with interest as he delved into stories of those he protected and sought to fight for within the knights—to better things in the system—winning hearts and minds one by one, at least enough to make him captain for the time being. The interest in Yuri's eyes for length of it kept Flynn talking, sometimes warmly of experiences, others much colder, somewhat frustrated in a way he'd never done. He'd not felt so free to speak in such a long time. 

Their chat lasted well into the night—laughter filling a manor that had been nearly empty for years. A tension still remained on the floors below them and just beyond the heavy old door. 

 

* * *

 

Just beyond the entryway and further still, out into the surrounding woods and in the muddy roads a moving target was felled. Rain water spattered over the now corpse and thunder cracked closer still in the darkness of night. The hunter inspected this kill, leaning over it and bodily blocking the rain for the moment. A hound, hardly a hound anymore, disfigured and alien even in life now laid dead at her boots, oozing a little in its wounds before the rain water washed it away. Over a cliff ahead the hunter could see the old Lowell residence and adjusted her hood. Her cape fluttered in the rain only slightly—the fabric mostly weighed by wet weight, clinging to her shoulders, her arm and hand grasping a spear firmly. Rain soon rinsed the blood from the tip of the blade. The trail had yet to get entirely cold.


End file.
